


Watchfire

by Jemisard



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Drug Use, Drug Withdrawal, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-04
Updated: 2015-01-04
Packaged: 2018-03-05 07:47:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3111833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jemisard/pseuds/Jemisard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dorian planned on bugging Cullen since no one else was awake. Instead, he finds him in the grips of something he never imagined.</p><p>Spoilers for Cullen's storyline.</p><p>Read into it as you will.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Watchfire

The night sky was dimmed by the watchfires that burned around the battlements of Skyhold, but the darkness was still thick enough that when Dorian looked out of the library window, he could see the lamps still burning in Cullen's office.

It wasn't surprising that Cullen was still up and working. Dorian closed his current reading, set it on the table and headed down stairs.

Solas's chamber was empty, which suggested it was later than he'd realised. The keep was quiet, the stone muffling the noises of outside. He headed through to the battlements, tugging his jacket closer around him as the blast of cold air whipped past and reflexively leaning on his staff to balance against the rush of wind.

Even the tavern had closed up, the fires burning but the music over. He climbed the stairs, shifting to knock with his staff until he heard the noise. A thump and groan, the clatter of glass rolling across stone.

Dorian knew what pain sounded like without being told.

He didn't even think before bursting in, staff in hand and ready to incinerate whatever threat had managed to surprise Cullen. But inside, there was no demon, no monster, not even another person.

Just Cullen.

Just Cullen, curled up in a corner of the room, shaking and sweating.

Just Cullen, his face flushed with pain and fever and his hand curling into a fist, refusing to reach for the potion that had rolled from his grasp.

The softly glowing blue potion that sang with magic and power to Dorian's ears.

Dorian let his staff clatter to the floor, striding to where Cullen was curled up, in too much pain and distress to uncurl himself. "You silly, silly man," he admonished softly, crouching next to his friend. "You could have told me."

He pressed his hand to Cullen's brow, a whisper of magic across his skin to bring some cool relief to the fever. Cullen protested wordlessly, but he pressed his face to Dorian's palm.

"I'd ask why you're here, alone and miserable, but I already know what you'd say if you could. You don't want to worry anyone, don't want to be a bother, this is your penance for whatever it is you did or think you did or didn't do while you were a templar and all that self sacrificing nonsense you Fereldans are so fond of." He sat on the floor, pressing close and keeping up the light touches of ice, soothing as best he could. "And someone thought they were helping by bringing a supply of lyrium up here unasked."

Cullen's huff of breath was answer enough for him. With a bit of effort, he managed to tug away the thick fur around his neck and shoulders, leaving space for Dorian to slip his arm around the commander's shoulders. "You don't need it."

He could only imagine the conflict. He wanted to quit the lyrium for good. But it was right there, and he was suffering and men in pain would do a lot of things for relief. And lyrium got right into your soul and sank a thousand little barbed hooks into it, until every drop of blood and scrap of dream you were was caught by it.

Cullen's body jerked with another surge of pain and he pushed forward, hand reaching out. Dorian caught it, curling his own fingers around Cullen's grasping fingers and wrapping his arm over his chest. "You don't want it. You don't need it."

He couldn't physically stop Cullen if he actually wanted to move. It took a long moment, but all that coiled strength relaxed back into him, letting the shakes happen and not fighting Dorian's gentle restraint. Dorian took the chance to kick the bottle further away, watching it roll out of sight behind the desk leg.

"I'm here. It will pass and you'll have proven that you don't need it. Because you don't. You don't need it." His fingers dragged through Cullen's hair. "Try and relax, don't fight it. Be the messy, pained wreck you need to be and I'll make sure no one else ever knows."

"I- don't want-" Cullen managed to get out.

"Want isn't on the table. Need is. You need to let it out, because you don't need it."

"Don't go," the other man whispered, pressing his face into Dorian's shoulder.

"Wild bulls wouldn't drag me away," he promised. "Even with the offer of a decent port. You're rather stuck with me for now."

Cullen didn't reply.

Dorian didn't need him to.


End file.
